


the monsters cannot reach you here (they live behind your eyes in fear)

by astarisms



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Light Angst, Nightmares, Not his sister, Other, So here we are, and is it really a dara fic without just a smattering of self reflection on his past, at me, because it's from dara's pov, bestie used a prompt generator and threw the, dad dara makes me soft and its all he wanted, dara and nahri's child has a nightmare and climbs into bed with them in the middle of the night, i will give him a slice of the domesticity he deserves in the form of this cavity inducing fic, this is their daughter named after his sister, to get married, to have a family, to settle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astarisms/pseuds/astarisms
Summary: tamima has a nightmare.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin & Tamima (OC), Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri e-Nahid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	the monsters cannot reach you here (they live behind your eyes in fear)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlethiefs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlethiefs/gifts).



Dara wakes to the sound of soft footsteps in their room, instantly on alert, but the tension that has him reaching for the bow and quiver leaning against the wall by the bed fades just as quickly when he hears the sniffling, sees the tiny shadow of his daughter shuffling her way through the dark.

Her outstretched hands catch the edge of the bed, and she hiccups as she swings a leg up to climb on. 

“Baba,” she chokes tearfully, and his heart shatters at the break in her voice. “ _ Maman _ .” 

“I am here,” he says, reaching for her hastily, pulling her up and onto his lap. With a gesture, all the candles in the room ignite, and he catches a glimpse of the tear-stained cheeks and snotty nose before she buries her face in his chest, clutching at him with her little fists. She trembles in his arms, and his panic spikes in a way no intruder could accomplish.

“What is it, zendegim?” he asks quietly, desperately trying to get a hold of his own emotions at the sight of her like this, to be the calm, steady presence she needs. He brushes her damp curls away from her face as Nahri stirs beside him. 

“Tamima?” his wife murmurs, her own voice thick with sleep, before she hears the shuddering breaths, the soft whimpers, and she is up and on her knees beside them in an instant, her hand on their daughter’s back. Dara recognizes it for both the comforting gesture it is and Nahri’s way of quickly assessing whether Tamima is hurt. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter, habibti?”

“Scary,” she whispers haltingly, muffled into his shirt, and both he and Nahri lean in to catch the rest, “behind my eyes.” It takes but a moment for her meaning to sink in, and when the threat of immediate danger or injury disappears, the panic fades with it.

Nightmares. It was only a nightmare. 

But even as his nerves settle, his heart aches still. Dara is well acquainted enough with nightmares to be familiar with the terror they bring. He knows how draining they are, how the fear wraps around one like a vice, seizing the lungs and the heart and making reality indistinguishable from the dream. 

The fact that this is one thing he cannot protect her from makes it all the worse. What good are his centuries of training, his affinity for combat, the charms he had spent hours searching for and perfecting to place around their home, against a threat that manifests only inside of her head? 

He exchanges a worried, helpless look with Nahri, whose eyes soften with understanding, even as her brow creases in pain at their daughter’s sniffling. Satisfied that she is physically unharmed, her hand on Tamima’s back begins rubbing small, soothing circles, and she settles in beside them, leaning against Dara’s side.

“It’s okay, my love,” Nahri croons to her, “we have you now.”

“S-scary,” Tamima repeats, shaking her head, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and Dara’s chest tightens painfully. He recognizes that terrified, trembling creature in her, knows it intimately. For a long time, that helpless, petrified creature had replaced his own reflection.

Sometimes it still does.

He knows that her nightmares will not mirror his. Her nightmares will have been borne of myths and fantasies, of stories she had heard in passing, of her own imagination’s worst creations. Maybe, partially, it will have been borne of some truth, a moment of pain or fear that had become twisted until it was no longer recognizable as something that had since passed.

But her nightmares will not be her own memories, her own crimes played back to her, her own imprisonment relived. His nightmares are impossible to banish entirely, but he has learned some things, dealing with them as long as he has.

Surely, he cannot be so useless against the fears that plague her when he sees himself in her.

“You had a bad dream. Look,” he coaxes gently. She shakes her head again, clutching him tighter, and he feels Nahri’s eyes on him, but his are only for their daughter. “Look, zendegim. There are no monsters here.”

She hesitates, then slowly, she turns her head, just barely, peeking out at her mother. Nahri gives her an encouraging smile, and she pulls back a little more, looking apprehensively around the room with red eyes. 

“Baba has bad dreams, too.” She turns back to him in surprise, and he smiles, reaching up to wipe her tears away.

“Baba see scary, too?”

“Yes,” he says softly. “But it cannot hurt you. It is too afraid to come out from behind your eyes.” He taps her eyelids gently, as if to prove his point, and she swats him away, though she gives a small, watery laugh.

“Scary is… scared?” she asks, her hands returning to the front of his tunic. 

“Oh, yes,” he says again, touching his forehead to hers, “of me. I am the scariest monster of all.”

Tamima laughs again, and shoves at his chest.

“Baba not scary!” she protests, though her eyes light up, and his heart wrenches in his chest at the love in them, the blind faith and adoration. Creator save him, he does not deserve it. He does not deserve this life, but he would do anything, he would work every day, so that one day he might be worthy of the way his daughter looks at him. “No monster.”

Something inside of him breaks, but he holds the pieces together out of sheer will, smiling down at her. Nahri’s free hand settles on his back, steadying him. 

“No? Are you certain?” Tamima nods her head resolutely, the last vestiges of the nightmare fading. “Then it must be Maman, because I am sure there was a fiend around here who dealt in tickles.” He exchanges a look with Nahri over Tamima’s head, and she grins, right as Tamima gasps and spins back around to look at her mother. Nahri’s fingers attack at the same moment, and Tamima squeals, twisting away.

The three of them fall back onto the bed, Tamima between the two of them, giggling so hard her cheeks turn red, batting their hands away. Nahri ends her assault, laying her palm flat across Tamima’s stomach, and Dara watches her watch the rise and fall of their daughter’s chest with each gasping breath. 

But it quickly becomes abundantly clear that, though the night terrors have passed, Tamima has no plans to return to sleep anytime soon. She asks for a story, which Dara delivers, using his hands to help convey the magnificence of the tale. Nahri strokes her hair while the two of them listen with rapt attention, gently untangling the curls, until he finishes and Tamima turns around, asking her mother for a song. 

Nahri smiles indulgently, and sings an old Daeva lullaby he had taught her ages ago. He pulls both of them close, and she meets his eyes again, tired but no longer with that worry creasing her brow. He kisses her forehead, then joins her for the end of the lullaby. Tamima curls up between them, heavy-lidded, her head on Nahri’s chest, and one little hand reaches out, searching until he slips his finger into it. 

She holds on tight, long after she drifts off to sleep again, like she knows the nightmares will not come for her with him there, as if some part of her believed that he could scare them away, despite her adamant protests.

And just this once, he does not resent the monster that lurks in him. Not if it could ward off hers. 


End file.
